I’ve neglected my sweet little blog for too long now.  A whole week!  

Life has left me at a loss for words - I’m always processing, processing, processing - that’s what I do.  But lately I’ve been going through an odd period of offline metamorphosis. 

I’ve been sleeping a lot - it’s as if I’m catching up on months of sleep.  I’ve been getting eight hours a night instead of my usual six, which has been cutting greatly into my evening adventures in the blogosphere.  But I think I must have needed it more than I knew.  I dreamt last night of vampires, but they never sucked my blood.  That in and of itself is something, because I don’t tend to remember my dreams.  I don’t know that I usually sleep soundly enough to have more than dream fragments.

Last Saturday I had a 1.5 hour session with an intuitive whom I first spoke to last year.  At that time, she rightly predicted the departure of my ex, within a week of it happening.  

This year, she told me that I am pregnant.  Not with your traditional flesh-and-blood baby, but metaphorically speaking.  I’m giving birth to something new, and in about nine months, according to my astrological chart, I’ll know more.  I’m not sure yet what it is all about, but I’m open to the possibilities.  

“How do you treat yourself when you’re pregnant?” she asked.

“You nurture yourself.  You treat yourself very well.” I said.

This metaphor really works for me.  We are all carrying around the blooms of the future, and our task is to plant the seeds, to water them, to tend to our garden and not neglect it.  Not let it die, and not let it grow out of control.  I have often veered between these extremes, not knowing what it means to have a well-tended garden, made beautiful from small, daily acts of love and care.  I’ve always wanted someone else to prune me, to water me, to feed me, to be my sunlight.

Talking with her sort of shattered this roller coaster ride I’ve been on - chasing after men to make me feel alive.  Making the hunt my drug of choice.  So much of the frustration, chronicled in this blog, is that the “high” has been eluding me.  I’ve been like a junkie, jonesing for a fix, but can’t seem to score.

I’m actually ready to stop trying so damn hard.  I even hid my online profiles, and haven’t been tempted to go on for days.  Amazing.  From someone who could not stop, as of a week ago.

Not that there is anything wrong with online dating - not at all.  It’s just that for me, it can be a way to escape into fantasy.  Then I get so disappointed with the reality.  My expectations are so high, my needs so immense - it’s hard to imagine any kind of human fulfilling them.  I’ve set that up as an impossibility.

I’m not saying that I’m ready to be a saint or — gasp! — celibate.  Not going that route.  I’m still going to date.  But I’m going to just live my life and see what unfolds.  I’m surrendering the fight to “make” something happen - like I tried to do with MTM, like I’ve tried to do with so many others.

It’s easier for me to say all of this, perhaps, because now, for however long, Sami’s dad is back in the picture. Overnights start this week. This Friday, I’ll have an entire night to myself for the first time in a year. Last Friday night, I felt a twinge of mourning, realizing that this would be my last one with Sami for a while. I will miss him terribly, but I also welcome the chance to be my other-than-mama self for just one night a week.  

I do have a date, with someone I met last weekend.  I’d say more, but I think I am going to have to adopt the attitude of “no kissing and telling” with this one.  We did meet online, but our in-person connection was lovely.  I have no expectations for this Friday, other than to dance my ass off at 80s night.  I know I recently exhorted myself not to take this all so damn seriously, and I tend to forget my own missive.

There is a giddiness here, a sense of “enjoy this all while it lasts” because really, that’s all we can ever do, anyway.  I’d like to think Sami’s father is a stable influence in his life, for Sami’s sake and for mine, but I’m far from certain of that fact.